Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Yesterday, something out of character for you occurred: you spilled your entire container of newly-opened milk while we were eating lunch. You doused yourself, your Mama, the floor, my wallet, and keys. You whimpered.

I sprang into action to save what dry parts of our laps we could. I told you not to worry, and I meant it.

I'm not too proud to get down on my hands and knees in a McDonald's and mop up spilled milk.We make messes; we clean them up. No greater life lesson than that.

This morning, we were about a mile from daycare when the lid of your princess sippy cup came off and doused you with 8oz. of freed apple juice. This time, you wailed.

You cried and cried. Saying you did it again. How you spilled yesterday AND today. How you ruined your favorite horsey shirt. How the Daycare Lady was going to be mad at you for being wet. Your sad, terrified rant broke my heart.

Mama, I am going to need so many wipes today. My elbow is even wet, you said.

I kept telling you it would be fine. That it was an accident, completely coincidental from yesterday. That everyone has accidents, that no one was mad at you, and we would fix it.

You're awfully serious for a three-year-old. Your reaction reminds me that I am parenting a sensitive child who is beginning to understand logic. A child, who just like the rest of the world, is scared of being judged or punished for accidents or inconsequential events.

Baby girl, I meant what I said. It was an accident. And I'll love you no matter how big a mess you make, intentionally, unintentionally, or otherwise.

Friday, May 27, 2011

This week, our family and entire state is mourning the death of Harmon Killebrew, #3 and third base player for the Minnesota Twins from 1961 until 1974. Killebrew is your Grandpa T's favorite baseball player of all time. It's hard to lose a legend, a childhood hero, and lifelong inspiration. His #3 jersey has been hanging Grandpa and Grandma's picture window since he passed away last Tuesday.

Killebrew embodied what professional athletes usually don't: poise, grace, quality, respect, integrity. He was a simple, quiet man who loved his job and did it well. He was free of endorsements, drama, and ego. He set an example for the rest of the league.

Killebrew will always be remembered for the 573 career home-runs he hit, being inducted into the Hall of Fame, and his 13 All-Star game appearances, without a doubt.

But he will be most remembered for being that hero and inspiration to thousands and thousands of people, young and old.

Thanks for the being the cornerstone of Major League Baseball in our state.Rest in peace.

Friday, May 20, 2011

I am behind on this post ... current story of my life! In March, your Grandma G. and I went on a solo girls' vacation to the East coast, visiting Savannah, GA and Charleston, SC. It was in honor of our big birthdays- 30 and 50- and I finally boarded an airplane with my own Mama for the first time ever. When I was a kid, if we couldn't reach a destination in our silver Ford Taurus wagon, we simply didn't go. This was truly, a trip of a lifetime.

Grandma G. is one of the most easygoing people I know. I love that trait. She let me completely plan the trip. She let me drive the red-hot 2012 Mustang with four miles on it ... like I stole it. And we freestyled like Thelma and Louise when airports and deicing and tarmac time and weather threatened our trip. We just took off into the sunset with half a map, lots of caffeine, and sunglasses on our giddy faces.

We stayed in luxurious, historical beds. We ate Southern. We laughed Northern. We drank more Starbucks that anyone should in a months' time, let alone five days. We bought souvenirs for our favorite people, requested our sweet tea be unsweetened, wore SPF, bought scarves, shoes, and lipgloss, and called home each night to whisper good nights.

I loved every second.And, took hundreds of photos.Hundreds.But, after the laborious task of whittling that list down to an editable amount, I kept coming back to these 15 photos. They speak for themselves. They hold the memories that will unlock the stories of our sacred trip.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

I made you your first ever playlist last weekend for a roadtrip, and named it, appropriately, LOUD.You always want to rock; you always want it loud. You make me SO proud, my little protege!

Please forgive me for including not one, but TWO explicit lyric songs. I don't even realize when I download them, that they'll be heard by tender ears. Parenting, FAIL. Don't tell your friends, or their Mamas.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Last Sunday was one of your Mama's favorite days ... in that I was able to spend the day with some of my favorite women.

My Grandma, who just turned 80.My Mama, who just turned 50.My daughter, who just turned the world upside down, per usual.

I loved that afternoon. I loved Daddy taking our picture, and I'll treasure it forever.

But not as much as the memories we made during our photo shoot.

Note Exhibit A:

And, Exhibit B:

So, we got one, sort of decent photo, and about 17 not-so decent. But those are the realistic ones of life with a three year old. I love how I kept on smiling, Daddy kept on snapping like your antics were no big deal. You had your Grandma's both in stitches.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

These days more than ever, you long to be a grown up like Mama. You will back up to my legs, to measure how tall you are against my height.

I am loving the attention you bestow upon me. I love that at least for now, I am your idol and you want desperately to be like me. You are so incredibly good for my spirit and soul. You make me stand a little straighter, and choose my words a little slower. Imitation is flattery, and I am enjoying this journey one high-heeled, giant handbag stealing step at a time!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

I don't need a day on the calendar to celebrate being a Mama. I do it every single day.Since you were seconds old, calm as can be, eight pounds, three ounces, 21 inches long, and 10 days late, I was a Mama.Your Mama.And I celebrate that sweet, amazing, gifted titled every single day.As I have for the past three years and five months.

And in the lyrics of your very favorite song, Soul Sister, by Train, lies this notion:

Your sweet moon beam, the smell of you in every single dream I dream,I knew when we collided, you're the one I have decided who's one of my kind

Monday, May 9, 2011

Last week, Daddy casually mentioned preschool and what we had planned for you, our three year old. Admittedly, I hadn't thought too much about it for whatever reason; we just wrapped up Sunday School and swimming lessons and are slowly starting to make plans for the summer. Preschool wasn't even on my horizon.

Well, it is now.

We enrolled you just this morning. You'll start September 12, and will go every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday from 9am-11:30am.

Daddy and I took you to tour preschool and meet the staff this morning. You were familiar with the location, because it's at our church where you already go to Sunday School. We watched all the three, four, and five year olds interact in their classrooms, as you quietly inspected everything. You marched right into one class and joined their circle time; you made an art project, and you joined the 5 year olds for snacks and cleaned up after yourself.

And made my heart burst with pride.And, truthfully, fear.

You are so smart and so capable. You are so ready for preschool. Daddy remarked he wishes we could have enrolled you for five days a week. You are going to excel and love it the way you love everything: with everything you have. I absolutely adore the gusto you have for every aspect of life. I am not afraid you'll struggle, or be scared, or be frustrated, because I know you won't.

No, I am just afraid that this is yet another milestone we'll reach and cross off the list and all of a sudden, it will just be happening. Life is still moving along way too quickly for my liking. I try to soak up as much as I possibly can before it changes, but it's hard to get you, or life, to sit still long enough.

Because in a few months, I'll drop you off with your big backpack and the ability to write your name. You'll come home smelling like classrooms and brimming with stories of adventures, friendships, and little person growth.

Promise me this: at least one time this summer, just once, you'll fall asleep on my chest, your arms and legs splayed on either side of my body, your little cheek pressed tight against my skin, making us both sweat. I'll watch your face contort with the dreams in your head, and trace your hairline. I'll will you to stay this way for an hour, for a day, for an entire week.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

When I was on the track team in 7th grade, a friend and teammate made me a tape of Abba's Greatest Hits. I listened to that on my Walkman on repeat for the next six months, or until the tape wore right out. Hearing any Abba song for the past 18 years makes me think of being a bus, surrounded by teammates in Lycra and Nylon.

Last fall, you randomly starting singing the first few lines of Mamma Mia and I was 13 again. But, there's more to this story and our shared love affair.

A few Christmas ago, right after you turned one, your Papa started a holiday tradition of watching Mamma Mia. He loves musicals and doesn't care who knows it. That Christmas, you shook your baby booty to every song. Christmas at two, you danced more, and cried when it was over. This past Christmas, at age three, you got your own copy.

We watch the movie weekly, for the most part. You love to crank the volume, clear the floor, and dance and sing like your life depends on it. You can sing most the lyrics to Mamma Mia, the song. It's one of your favorites.

I've been cheated by you since I don't know whenSo I made up my mind, it must come to an endLook at me now, will I ever learn?I don't know how but I suddenly lose controlThere's a fire within my soulJust one look and I can hear a bell ringOne more look and I forget everything, w-o-o-o-oh

Mamma mia, here I go againMy my, how can I resist you?Mamma mia, does it show again?My my, just how much I've missed youYes, I've been brokenheartedBlue since the day we partedWhy, why did I ever let you go?Mamma mia, now I really know,My my, I could never let you go.

I've been angry and sad about things that you doI can't count all the times that I've told you we're throughAnd when you go, when you slam the doorI think you know that you won't be away too longYou know that I'm not that strong.Just one look and I can hear a bell ringOne more look and I forget everything, w-o-o-o-oh

Mamma mia, here I go againMy my, how can I resist you?Mamma mia, does it show again?My my, just how much I've missed youYes, I've been brokenheartedBlue since the day we partedWhy, why did I ever let you go?Mamma mia, even if I sayBye bye, leave me now or nevermamma mia, it's a game we playBye bye doesn't mean forever

Mamma mia, here I go againMy my, how can I resist you?Mamma mia, does it show again?My my, just how much I've missed youYes, I've been brokenheartedBlue since the day we partedWhy, why did I ever let you goMamma mia, now I really knowMy my, I could never let you go

The Lil' Dude

A seven-year-old dynamo who never meets a stranger, nor cardboard box she doesn't love. Craves sleep, CheezIts, art, her people, making a difference, and singing her heart out. She's better than anything on any Starbucks menu.

That's What She Said

"I am enough. I am full of sparkle & compassion. I genuinely want to make the world a better place. I love hard. I practice kindness. I'm not afraid of the truth. I am loyal, adventurous, supportive, & surprising. I am a woman. I am enough. I make mistakes, but I own them & learn from them. Sometimes I make a lot of mistakes." -Molly Mahar